What Happens in Vegas
by Whiteline
Summary: ...Stays in Vegas. Oh, If only that were true. When straight-laced Hermione wakes up married to George Weasley-- the overgrown man-child-- her perfect life is turned upside down.
1. Jagerbombs

Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: This is my new story, 'What Happens in Vegas.' It's based on the film with a few tweaks here and there. I've followed canon including interview information; only the relationships of Ron, Hermione and George are differant. I really hope you come back to see the next chapter! I'm just so excited about this story.

Thanks to my Beta, Remuslives, there shouldn't be any nasty mistakes to hurt your eyes.

_On another note, I'm English, therefore all my spellings are English. You might think that that wouldn't mean much, but you'd be surprised. _

**What Happens in Vegas**

One: Jagerbombs 

It was a well established fact in the magical world that Hermione Granger was perfect: her brain was the brightest, her hair the neatest, her clothes the most stylish; she was never late, never impolite and always, always right. Yes, Hermione Granger was a very successful young woman.

"You're _dumping_ me?"

Ernie loosened the stiff, white collar on his oxford shirt. Trembling, he placed a calming hand on the shoulder of his livid, soon to be ex, fiancé.

"You can't dump me," she said, shaking her head. Her hands shook as she desperately dug through her bag, sending papers and diaries flying through the air. Tugging at her hair she pleaded with him, "I've made plans. We're getting married, Ernie! You can't dump me. No! No, no, no, no, no!" Sheets covered in dates and times fluttered to the ground. "No."

"Hermione, with you, I know what I'll be doing fifty years from now at five past four in the afternoon." His eyes pleaded for her to understand, "My breakfast is ready before I open my eyes, my clothes are ironed and hung up, waiting, my lunch is all packed in a little, brown bag, and then I come home from work and there is a three course meal laid out on the table. My parents love you. My friends love you. Everyone loves you!"

"Except you." The words came out no more than as whisper. Her life lay by her feet.

Gently, he took her hands in his, "I want to choose what boxers I wear in the morning. I don't want to be governed by schedules and diaries-- I need to be with someone who can let their hair down, and don't say you can. This is who you are, and there is nothing wrong with that. It's just... too much for me. I'm sorry."

She bent to the floor and grabbed at the papers that littered it, they ripped as she shoved them back into her bag. Her lip quivered and her eyes swelled with tears. When her hands fell still, his feet had already walked away, so she sat on the shiny floor of the lobby, her designer pumps tucked up under her brand-new suit, and cried.

* * *

"Dinner is ready dear!"

_CA'BOOM! _With one singed eyebrow and hair that had seen better days, George Weasley tumbled out of his bedroom and crashed down the stairs, his head and back bounced off the steps, the banister, and the wall, leaving him in a crumpled pile at the bottom.

"Oh George," sighed Molly as she bustled from the kitchen to help him up. He wobbled and clutched her shoulder—the world was a swirling kaleidoscope of colours. "Come and eat your dinner dear. Harry and the kids are here; Ginny's not feeling too good."

As George sat at the long, oak dining table that had been in his family for generations, he eyed his brother in law pitifully. The poor boy; married by twenty, two and a half children already, full time job, house by the sea; his life was over. Unlike George's. George grinned as he scooped another spoonful of mash into his mouth. He had it made! Unlike Harry, he had no responsibilities, giving him the option to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Bliss.

"_George?_ Hello..." George blinked and shook his head, coming out of his fantasy world where he was king of everything,

"Sorry mate," he said, grinning at the annoyed glare that Harry shot his way, "you were saying?"

"Ron's stag do? I asked if you wanted to share my portkey? I was going to travel with Neville, Seamus and Dean, but Hermione came round last night. Ernie called the wedding off so Ron invited her to take his place. She is one of his best friends after all. Anyway, she'll be travelling with them, so..."

"Ron's stag do?" George paused as his mother's pursed lips and wrinkled brow reflected off of Harry's glasses. "Oh yes, Ron's stag do! Of course I'll share your portkey. I've been looking forward to going to..." George stopped and ran a nervous hand through his spiky, ginger hair.

"Las Vegas," finished Harry with a pointed look.

"I knew that." George grinned and took another mouthful of mash, "Been looking forward to it all month!"

"He only just told you last Monday," Harry deadpanned. To his left, Harry's son snorted into his cabbage and grinned up at his Uncle George. George cringed.

* * *

It was freezing. That was her first thought upon apparating to their meeting point. Her legs and arms were covered in goose-bumps and her stilettos were digging uncomfortably into the grassy field. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms she glared around for any signs of the rest of their party.

_POP!_

Dean appeared beside her, a bottle of beer in one hand and a large cigar in the other. With his free hand he roughly pulled Hermione into a hug and kissed her upon her neatly done hair. The stench of alcohol and tobacco wafted down her nose and she cringed as she tried to prise herself free.

"Looking hot," he said, "I like this, girly tux thing you have going on. Very sexy."

Hermione whipped her wand out and held it up to Dean's nose, "Listen very carefully _Thomas, _I took a lot of effort getting ready tonight, and if you dare mess that up by roughing me up, trust me, you'll regret it."

"She's not lying!" Ron appeared next, laughing as Dean backed away from the little, angry lady in a tuxedo style dress. Smiling he took his own jacket off and wrapped it around Hermione's shoulders, immediately upon landing, she felt its warming charms that were laced into the designer material.

The rest of the party appeared in various states of drunkenness, having begun drinking as soon as they finished work. They split up into two groups and placed a finger upon their international portkey. The stench of larger drifted through her little circle and she restrained the urge to pinch her nose.

Moments later they appeared in a beautiful hotel lobby; it was decorated in the finest gold and mahogany, with a crystal chandelier and plush carpeting. Hermione clasped her hands to her mouth and grabbed Harry's hand; he smiled back and squeezed a message of his own excitement.

Being the Best Man, it was Harry's job to organise the hotel rooms and entertainments for the night, and so Hermione left the group of half-cut men to wander around the lobby. A couple of leaflets caught her eye and she grinned as she spotted the luxury spa—seaweed wraps in the pool of tranquillity by Mediterranean mermaids; it sounded divine, oh and a seminar on the theories of house elf's magic by Professor Elvenhire! Her heart sped up at the mere thought of being able to sit in the same room as that beautiful genius.

George scoffed as he saw Hermione sporting a similar face to the one Cho Chang pulled if you tweaked her just right, only instead of being mid-play, _she_ was lusting over some incredibly boring looking leaflets. In the spirit of his brother's stag do he marched over and snatched them out of her orgasming hands.

"What?" she spluttered as her leaflets were snatched away. She snapped her head around in search of the culprit and saw George Weasley holding them high above his head, grinning.

"The only things you will be doing tonight is getting intolerably intoxicated whilst gambling an incredible and ridicules amount of money. Ca va?"

"Hermione, George! I have our room keys!" Harry bellowed across the reception before Hermione could form a reply. With a parting glare, promising retribution, Hermione rushed over to where Harry stood surrounded by the rest of their party.

"It was decided by Ginny that you'd be sharing with me," he began with a chuckle, talking directly at Hermione, "as for the rest of you, I really don't care..." Harry chucked the keys at them and grabbed Hermione's hand, pulling her away from the rabble and into the lift.

Hermione laughed as Harry slotted their room key into the scanner and the lift took them directly to their suite. The content of Hermione's purse was soon folded neatly into one of the drawers while Harry shoved his clothes haphazardly into another. She twitched for a moment before marching over and rearranging his drawers so that even his underwear was folded. It was easy for Harry to ignore her, having gotten used to her odd tendencies.

"We're meeting everyone back in the lobby in half an hour," Harry told her as she pulled a book from her bag and took a seat by the window. It was then that she paused. The words of Ernie flooded back, was this really all she was? She'd spent her life being so utterly perfect in every way that she'd failed at the one thing that mattered.

To Harry's disbelief she placed the book down upon the windowsill and nodded.

"You're right," she said, looking at the book with a curious frown. Placing her hand upon it she turned to Harry and smiled at him wistfully, "When did I get so boring?"

"That's easy," Harry said as he took a seat beside her, "it was when you stopped coming drinking with Ron and I." Kissing her roughly on the forehead he pulled her up and over to the mini-bar, "now, let's blow our months wages on one massive mini-bar bill? What do you say? Time for a little catch up, me thinks!"

The bottles went down her throat like milk from a baby's bottle, one after the other, at Harry's insistence. Apparently they were playing 'I never' and Hermione soon learned that being a workaholic meant that you got drunk extremely quickly in a game like this. When time rolled around to leave, she was already feeling a little tipsy, and once they reached their stretch horse and cart, and began sipping the free Elfen-Champagne, her words were beginning to slur.

It turned out to be a night to remember, and one that she would ultimately forget. She pole-danced with Seamus, took her top off for a jagerbomb, played blackjack with a monkey and ate a deluxe pizza without using her hands.

The night was a whirlwind of activity.

Ron was lost somewhere- the last she'd seen of him was when they'd tied him naked, three quarters of the way up a pillar in a muggle casino. Dean was last seen making out with what Hermione had been sure was a very unconvincing drag queen. Harry had passed out long ago in the club that had no gravity, and was floating around someplace, probably in his own vomit. She wasn't sure where Neville went, but she had a feeling he hadn't drank as much as she had, because the last she saw of him, he was wearing shoes. Charlie, Bill and Percy were on stage, singing an old Weird Sister's song, so out of tune that the goblins were throwing cocktail sausages at them. And she was sat at the bar, a triple line of shots in front of her, with George and Seamus at either side.

"Whoever can do all three of their shots without using their hands the quickest, wins!" George announced. His words were slurred and Hermione had to yank him back onto his seat halfway through his speech.

The glasses trembled, sloshing the liquor over the rim as she slammed her hand down onto the bar. "Let's GO!" Hermione shouted. The three intoxicated adults lent forward, wrapping their lips around the rims of the shot glasses.

The liquor dribbled down her chin and onto her tux, the glass fell from her mouth as she snorted tequila out her nose. At the sound of her chocking, George slammed a hand on her back- with a thump she was thrown forwards into the bar, sending the remaining shots flying across the bar and into Seamus' lap.

"I win!" announced Seamus as he threw down his last empty glass. "What do I win?"

The three looked around and it was Hermione who flapped her arms around at the barman and grabbed Seamus by the arm, "Another shot!" she said, "He wins another shot!" The barman complied with a doubtful look, and seconds after Seamus downed it his head hit the bar sending him slipping off the stool and onto the ground.

And this was the last clear thing that poor Hermione Granger remembered from that fateful night in Vegas.

_A/N. Thank you for reading! I really hope that it wasn't too terrible. If I'm feeling amiable I may even post a bonus chapter- as a one shot- telling the hazy memories of Miss Granger after Geroge and she left Seamus. _

**

* * *

**

**Next up 'Chicken Dinner'. **

**And here is a little sneak preview: **

'He looked to the large double bed, where a Hermione shaped lump was snoring like a baby dragon. Careful to avoid the disaster zone that was the hotel room, he tiptoed through the rabble and perched beside the lump on the bed.**_'_**


	2. Chicken Dinner

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It's quite depressing.

Big, tasty thank you to Remuslives who has been my magical Beta!

_Sorry my beautiful readers and thankyou for your wonderful reviews; I intended to update this Friday, but unfortunatly I was too busy fighting a long-haired oger with an anger management problem. I really and truly wish I were lying. So, instead I come to you on Saturday with my newest chapter. Oh and if anyone is feeling generous, please help me eliminate said ogar by voting in my poll of "Ways to squish an ogar." It would really help the decision process... _

_So, read and enjoy... _

**Two: Chicken Dinner **

_"There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. _

_A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. _

_Too weird to live, and too rare to die." - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_

The potent odour of sex and alcohol still lingered in the air of the hotel room; it hit Harry like a flying gnome the second he stepped through the door. It was George who had told him where to find Hermione, at half past three in the afternoon, an hour before their portkey was due to leave. The floor was littered in a mixture of roses that had been tossed out of a nearby vase; a pair of lacy knickers had been tossed amidst a pile of broken glass, and there amongst all this, Harry spotted a saggy, old condom.

He looked to the large double bed, where a Hermione shaped lump was snoring like a baby dragon. Careful to avoid the disaster zone that was the hotel room, he tiptoed through the rabble and perched beside the lump on the bed.

"Sex kitten..." Harry whispered, trying to keep the smirk from his face, "little lioness..." he poked what he assumed was her shoulder, "Oi, Lady Marmalade!" He gave her a rough shove with both hands, yanked down the covers and burst out laughing—her entire body had been charmed with good wishes and happy returns, they had been scrawled over her arms, legs, back and even her breasts. But the most humorous was across her stomach, 'Property of George Weasley' had been written in the brightest orange Harry had ever seen.

"Harry!" her eyes popped open as she grabbed her bed sheet and pulled it back over her naked body, "I'm naked!" she spluttered.

"It's okay Marmalade, you're my sister..." Harry smiled and patted the bush that had grown on her head,

"I don't care," she slapped a hand to her head as the world swam- sitting up was not a good idea. Harry wrapped an arm around her and kissed her on the cheek,

"In law," he finished, grinning triumphantly. Then before it could register, or she could further question the odd statement, he bounced up off the bed and disappeared out the door with a parting shout of, "Be in the lobby in Half an hour!"

Hermione frowned, "what do you... where are you?" she stuttered, shaking her head in confusion. Groaning she sunk back down into the covers, "The world does not make sense this morning," she proclaimed. She lay like that for five minutes, staring up at the ceiling, and trying her best to piece together her memories from last night. Eventually she sat up and clambered out of the side of the bed that didn't have glass scattered across the floor. It was then she saw it. Charmed to the wall, and six feet across, was a brightly coloured, florescent banner with twinkling love-hearts merrily dancing around the letters, taunting her.

"I'm MARRIED!" she screeched, and then, something clicked, "Oh Merlin," she breathed, "I'm married to _George Weasley_."

She didn't move for a long time, but then her practical side took over- she could get the marriage annulled and no one, besides the people on this trip, would be any the wiser. She nodded mentally and sighed. "I just hope he didn't give me anything," she muttered, faintly remembering what a shambles their attempt at sex had been the night before.

Getting ready was a fumbled affair; she slipped and slid everywhere as she bundled into the shower, rinsing away the charms that covered her. Once clean she bundled out, falling several times on the tiled floors, and stopped. Her wand wasn't in the room, and neither were her clothes. The only thing she could see to wear, was her bra that hung from the chandelier in the centre of the room, and her knickers that were beautifully displayed next to the condom that had been too difficult to master in their intoxicated state.

"Oh _bugger_," she swore as she climbed up onto the bed and, using it for momentum jumped as high as she could to grab the straps.

This all left Hermione dressed in naught but her underwear and a towel; she was sure that, at one time, they'd had bathrobes, but again, something niggled at her conscience and she had a feeling they'd dressed as kung fu masters and had a war through the hallways of the hotel. It was just a feeling, mind...

For a witch of nearly twenty six, Hermione Granger had never done the walk of shame. It was something she heard about from work colleagues who'd complained and bemoaned their shame filled journeys with embarrassed giggles. And so, it was the first time that Hermione truly understood their odd take on it all—you see, if she thought about it, this entire situation was hilarious, and yet, all she wanted to do was bury herself into a humongous hole and not come out until Christmas.

When Hermione arrived in the lobby she was greeted by a round of applause, and a couple of wolf whistles. Her livid stare did nothing to quiet the odd party that greeted her; Ron wore a paper jumpsuit with 'Las Vegas A Division,' written across the back- she assumed the A stood for Aurors and Ron had been arrested; Seamus had a large purple bruise across his forehead coming down to his right eye- her last memory of him was of him falling off his bar stool, so that made sense; Charlie and Bill appeared to be missing their mouths, whereas Percy had no hair— from her deductions she assumed Percy had either dodged the spell or fallen over during it; Dean, from what she could see, looked normal enough, except for the noticeable hickey on his neck; and Neville, poor innocent Neville was bright red from top to toe—clearly he'd passed out in the hot Las Vegas sun; Harry was grinning, loving every minute of his friends' misery, looking perfectly respectable in a pair of jeans and t-shirt- she hated him; and finally there was George, dressed in Las Vegas memorabilia, and sporting a beautiful black eye on his freckled face- Hermione was happy to see that he looked thoroughly miserable.

Oddly enough it was Dean that spoke up from the group and said what Hermione had wanted to say, "Gentlemen," he began, and with a nod at Hermione, "Marmalade," Hermione scowled, "I think we should make an agreement right here, right now. What happened in Vegas, STAYS in Vegas. Do we all agree?"

"Hell yes!" was the general response, with a couple, "dear Merlin, please," and the odd, "thank goodness," thrown in. Dean nodded and turned to Harry,

"So, shall we all get the hell out of here before they realise their spa is now a marshland with its own pet swamp monkey?" Hermione opened her mouth to ask but was hushed by Harry,

"Just don't ask," he said.

The odd group huddled round their portkeys, looking bedraggled and a little queasy; Hermione clutched her towel to herself with one hand, silently hoping that it stayed up. Two minuets before they were about to leave a tall man in hotel uniform came jogging over.

"Mrs Weasley! Mr Weasey!" he called, waving two wands in the air. Both George and Hermione dropped their portkey and sprinted to where the gentleman stood catching his breath. "You almost forgot your wands." He smiled as they gratefully took back their means of life, "You'll be happy to know your winnings have been placed into a joint account in Gringotts, all you'll need is your wands as proof of identification; I have been told that you'll be issued keys upon arrival."

"Winnings?" they chimed.

"Yes," the hotel assistant beamed at them, "you won the one million galleon jackpot last night. Congratulations!"

"What?" Hermione breathed, but before he could elaborate Harry's desperate calls for them to hurry up had her sprinting back to her huddled group.

"I'm rich," were her last words before she entered the spinning world of the portkey.

It was two days later when Hermione, George, Harry and Ginny met for lunch to discuss their situation. So far, Ginny had not stopped laughing. Hermione picked at her salad while George bemoaned the fact that the Goblins wouldn't allow him access unless he went with Hermione.

"Even when you're drunk you're a control freak," he snapped, stabbing at his sausage. Apparently, Hermione had demanded that a restriction be put onto the vault only allowing them access when they went together, as man and wife. A snort from her left told her that Ginny was suffering from a fresh wave of giggles.

"As your solicitor," Ginny tittered into her sandwich, nearly choking as she forced the lump down her throat, "I'm devastated to tell you," she slapped a hand over her mouth and breathed deeply in an attempt to hold in the laughter; Hermione and George glowered, "that due to your marmalade sandwich making," here she laughed again causing George to growl and throw a slice of ham at her chuckling visage, "you are not entitled to an annulment," she finished, dodging the slice of ham.

Hermione sat back and nodded, already aware of that having spent the night scouring every marriage law book she could get her desperate hands on.

"Which means you have to file for divorce," it was here that she really took off; streams of tears ran down her cheeks as she clutched at the table top.

"_What is so funny about that?"_ snapped Hermione, finally tiring of Ginny's amused view on the terrible turn her life had taken.

"Can't," Ginny spluttered as she looked between the two of them.

"What my lovely and vindictive wife is trying to say," Harry cut in, "is that George is a purebood wizard from an old family. In order to keep your money you have to stay married for at least six months in the eyes of the law—meaning you'll need to attend marriage counselling so that they can see you are acting in your duties. If you both file for divorce regardless the money is taken and goes into government spending, since neither of you officially earned it. If one of you demands divorce the other is offered the money as compensation for being humiliated in such a way, should you then choose to share the money you'll be in breach of the law and charged accordingly."

"And you know all this, _how?"_ George asked. Having finally regained her composure, Ginny pointed at the little bump disguised beneath a flowery top,

"James started school this year, and as you know, Albus is a little angel. I'm going crazy! Mum left some of her books on marital law when Charlie and that ex-banshee of his were talking about marriage, so between articles, I've been reading those. They're quite interesting actually, did you know that if you're caught diddling with a goat, you are legally required to marry it?"

The other three occupants of the table threw Ginny a bemused glance. Unsurprisingly, it was Hermione who decided to organise the mess they'd gotten themselves into.

"First off, we are going to have to inform Molly." At George's exclamation of disbelief, Hermione cuttingly snapped, "And how else do you expect to explain to your mother why you are moving into my very small, very inadequate house?" George fell silent with a sulking frown, "Then we'll get a councillor—that shouldn't be difficult. I mean, come on George, we've known each other nearly our entire lives; how difficult can it be?"

* * *

For some reason, Hermione got the feeling that Molly Weasley was less upset about this situation than she let on. Yes, she shouted and she screamed and she threatened George with every curse she knew. She gave Hermione a lecture on how disappointed in her she was; telling her that she never thought that Hermione could ever be so irresponsible. But then, once they'd all sat down to dinner, she proceeded to call Hermione her daughter no less than ten times, all the while recommending outstanding marriage councillors that could help them better their relationship.

"She's barking mad," George exclaimed as soon as they arrived in Hermione's living room. He put his trunk beside the fireplace and shook his head, "barking!"

"What on earth are you talking about, George?" she sighed, distracted from her cleaning. It had been years since she had actively lived in her house, having used it previously during the summer months as a holiday home of sorts.

"Mum!" he cried, "She's bloody happy! Ecstatic! Didn't you hear her?"

Hermione pursed her lips as she reactivated the anti dust charms and began reorganising her possessions, which had been messed up the last time Ginny and Harry had borrowed the house. Ignoring his outburst, she pointed to a large cabinet against the far wall.

"You can put your belongings into that," she said, "the sofa will double as a bed; you just need to tap it with your wand and say 'Dod yn gwely'."

"Excuse me?" George stared at her, confusion etched onto his features.

"'Dod yn gwely'—I bought it in a Welsh furniture store. It's really not that difficult." Giving an impatient huff, she demonstrated the action and gave him a smug smile when a simple bed materialised in place of the sofa. "And to put it away, which I expect you to do each morning when you get up, you simply say, 'Dod nid gwely'." The bed complied with her request and sprang back into its previous form. "We don't eat in the living room, so if you require food you make it in the kitchen and eat it at the table in there."

George's lip curled incredulously while he reached a hand up, running it though his hair. "You're way more fun when you're wasted," he exclaimed. Again, Hermione ignored him, and instead pointed into the hallway between the kitchen and living-room,

"The toilet is through there. Flush it when you're done. And up those stairs," a set of stairs ran up the side of the living room and George strained to see what was up there, "is my bedroom," George stopped straining, immediately losing interest, "Don't go in there."

Rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner, George pottered over to his trunk and pulled out what Hermione thought looked suspiciously like a bottle of fire-whisky. Her eyes narrowed and she marched over to where he was already battling with the cork.

"There is no drinking in my house," she announced, snatching the bottle from his hands. His eyebrows shot up and his face tinged red. He snatched back the bottle and marched towards the door. She felt the chill as he brushed by her, and she shuddered.

"Then I'll drink it on the porch," he snapped, the door slammed behind him leaving her alone in her living room.

"Fine," she exclaimed, slamming her wand down on the side, "just, FINE." Already she could tell that this was going to be a testing six months. Her entire body was shaking with the sheer audacity George had shown in the last couple of days—he would switch from downright insulting her, to blatantly coming onto her, depending on his mood. He'd refused to get a job, refused to shave the disgusting stubble he'd acquired over the last couple of days, and was now going getting drunk on her porch.

With one last angry sniff her eyes lit up with a malevolent essence; oh, she would get him if it was the last thing she did. Snarling, she stormed to the front door and cast every locking charm she could think of. 'Ha,' she sneered, 'try getting back in now, you intoxicated, frivolous idiot!' Satisfied with her work, she stomped her way to her bed.

* * *

_Did you enjoy it? Please let me know! I love hearing even the smallest comments... and don't forget my poll; I need to figure out whether to order an elephant or a piano. _

_And, for your entertainment, I give you: **10 Stupid Rules from Around the World! **_

10. In the English city of Liverpool, home of The Beatles, a woman is prohibited by law to walk around topless, unless she is selling exotic fish at the market. - _well, duh? _

9. In Indonesia masturbation is strictly forbidden. Anyone who breaks the law and gets caught risks getting beheaded - _So guys...girls... don't go losing your head over a little porn. _

8. In Bahrain, the law prohibits a gynecologist to look directly at a patient's organs. He must use mirror reflections to do his job. - _Yep, that'll just about make me feel all safe and secure?_

7. In the state of Alabama people are not allowed to drive while blindfolded. - _Okay, this is less of a stupid law, and more proof of stupid people. _

6. In Belgium a driver who needs to turn through oncoming traffic has right of way, unless he stops or slows down. - _if you have ever driven in Europe this will make A LOT of sense. _

_5. _In Singapore it is illegal to pee in a lift - _to be fair I think this is illegal everywhere... but why specifically a lift? _

4. Apparently in Utar birds have right of way on all highways _- When was the last time you saw a bird driving a car? _

_3_. In England it is illegal to pee in public, unless you are a pregnant, in which case a police man is legally required to provide you with his hat to urinate in. _- There's one reason to have kids! _

_2. _In France no pig may be addressed as Napoleon by its owner. _- Bet they hated George Orwel. _

_1_. In Trinity college, Ireland, students can demand a glass of wine at any time during an exam, provided they are wearing their sword. - _Now THAT my friends, sounds like my kinda college. _


	3. Burn, Baby Burn

Disclaimer: I didn't write Harry Potter. Is that statement really necessary?

_I have sent this chapter to my Beta, Remuslives, but I only sent it yesterday; I am a world-class procrastinator- it's about the only thing I ever got around to achieving. So, until then I give you the special and highly valuable, first edition! _

_I can't thank those people who have reviewed my story enough! You are all amazing! The one-shot I promised HAS been written, but it isn't quite right. Something is bugging me. Once I get this chapter up, I'll send it to Remuslives, if she'll have it, and see what she thinks. Just so it's clear, the one-shot IS M rated. That means you have to have experienced bad sex in order to appreciate it._

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Chapter Three: Burn, Baby Burn

_Marriage is a great adventure, like going to war_

Five- thirty arrived much too soon for Hermione. The room was still dark when the blaring squeal of her alarm clock had her prising her eyes open. Her morning routine was always the same; get out of bed, neaten the covers, jump in the shower, fix her hair and makeup, get dressed in her work suit, skip downstairs, refresh the charms on the living-room, cleaning up any stray marks, lay out breakfast, organise her work file for the day, make note of her meetings, eat breakfast, and jump into the floo to work.

All this was done in a one hour period, which got her to work an hour and a half early, leaving her plenty of time to nip out for her morning coffee with Lavender. Lavender worked with Hermione in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, before Hermione transferred into the Magical Law Enforcement department. They had made it part of their daily routine to meet before work over a nice, steaming cappuccino.

"It's gotten so out of hand," Lavender groaned. Frowning, Hermione dipped her biscuit into her frothy milk, desperately trying to figure out what Lavender had said moments before. "If this mess doesn't get cleaned up, I'm being transferred to the centaur's office!"

"You said that a notable pureblood has sold their family home to a muggleborn family?"

Lavender nodded and Hermione got a feeling in the pit of her stomach- why did she get the feeling that her workload just increased? "Yes, and I signed the papers to state that the house was fit for sale! I didn't know that the muggleborn family were actually muggles and their child was only eleven. I explained that a Seishin Shōjō had manifested itself over three hundred years back due to a Japanese wizard that took residence in the house and they signed. And now the obliverators and reversal squad are on my back and I just don't know what to do."

"A Seishin Shōjō: a Japanese poltergeist that acts as a helpful spirit within the Japanese home. I don't understand... How many times?" Hermione winced as Lavenders face flushed,

"Seventeen, and that's only this week. It's terrorising them, what the previous owners didn't tell me was that the Seishin Shōjō was created as a guard for the house against... go on, guess?"

Hermione groaned, "muggles?"

"Spot on."

Pulling out her diary she flipped to today's date and began to scribble the details Lavender had already told her, "Okay, I have all the details you've given me, and I'll be by your office at 2.15 to collect some more information once I'm registered on this case. Anything else?"

Lavender shook her head, "thanks Hermione."

By the time the clock hit 5.30 the soles of Hermione's feet felt as though she'd walked on hot coals. Ten different stacks of legal documents were still sitting on her desk while her file cabinet sat with its mouth wide open in mocking laughter. She sent the offending item a vicious glare, but its metal frame and inanimate state rendered her evil eye powerless.

A light knock sounded on her door and a head of shiny black hair poked through, "Miss Grr...easley?" She smiled stiffly at her secretary; he was a Hogwarts graduate that had been hired into the ministry through family connections, and then transferred into her department once the family member realised how useless he was.

"Yes, Darwin?"

"I forgot I got this memo for you before. It was totally cool; I was just sitting there, drinking my pumpkin juice and this aeroplane dive-bombed the desk and knocked over that duck thing I got the other day and I was like, that is SO awesome!"

"_Darwin_!" she snapped. Already her eyes were bugging out her head.

"Oh right! The memo! I spilt my juice and I needed a cloth and I totally forgot it was a memo. I think it was off that dude you know. The one with the glasses and the freakish scar? I forgot his name, but it said something about a flower or a turnip or some..."

"You mean _Harry Potter_?" she cut in, her face etched into disbelief. Darwin ran a hand through his hair and grinned sheepishly,

"Yeah, that dude. Isn't he, like, famous or something?" His lazy drawl made her teeth hurt and her fingers itch for her wand,

"Yes!" she snapped waspishly, "he is famous for ensuring you have a world to grow up in free from oppression and prejudice!"

"Geez lady, chill. Anyway, he came by a second ago and asked if you'd got the memo. I said I got it, and..."

"Darwin, is Harry, perchance, waiting just outside the door?"

Darwin's jaw dropped open and his eyes widened like two vacant orbs, "Wow," he breathed in awe, "Are you like, physic?"

"Yes. I am physic- that is exactly what it is." Hermione gave him a stiff smile, "Now, if you don't mind, could you please tell Harry that I am ready for him?"

When Harry entered tears were rolling down his bespectacled face and his mouth was quivering with suppressed laughter. A growl escaped her lips as he flopped himself down into the vacant chair opposite her own. "I'm jealous; if it wasn't for Minister Shaklebolt saying no, I'd have stolen your secretary months ago."

Hermione rubbed small circles round her temples; her eyes bugged as she glared over at what was supposed to be her best friend. _"Take him." _Her hiss was barely audible, in fact, if it wasn't for the cold shiver running down Harry's spine, he would have sworn that she hadn't said a word. Putting his hands up in mock surrender, he took a deep breath and threw himself to the lions, or lioness, in this case.

"Ginny booked you in with our councillor," he blurted. A faint blush flushed his cheeks as he realised that instead of sacrificing himself, he'd thrown in his wife. Well, there's only so many times a guy can sacrifice himself for the greater good.

It was like someone had cast a deflation spell on an old balloon; her entire body just drooped. "When?" Her voice held stings of hysteria. The whites of her eyes were pink with exhaustion and her hands shook as she shuffled papers needlessly. Harry shuffled guiltily in his seat and passed the appointment card across the work-filled desk.

"Tomorrow at five," he began hesitantly, "I thought I'd tell you now so you could pass it on to George when you get home."

"_George_?" _Oh my goodness! _Her stomach lurched as she slapped a hand over her mouth, "I forgot about George..."

* * *

George was having a brilliant dream. There they were, Fred and George, worldwide pranksters. They were rich, beautiful and had the hottest witches at their sides. WWW had gone global! It was a sunny day and Diagon Ally was packed full of people, all desperate to get a glimpse of the infamous twins. They were promoting their latest product; a water-wand. It was super long and it sprayed water to over one hundred feet. Everyone had bought one and a humongous water fight broke out. Water poured from everywhere! He was soaked through.

Wait.

The ally faded away, as did the people. Everything was dark. Why was he still getting wet? An ache echoed in his head as his eyes fluttered open to see the murky green of a neatly trimmed lawn. His mind flickered back to last night: he'd drunk the whisky on the porch; thought up inventive ways to dispose of the wife; got up to go to bed, and? He looked over at the front door to Hermione's quaint little cottage. The barmy control freak had locked him out!

His body groaned in protest as he stretched out his muscles and stomped towards the nearest shelter. Rain splattered onto his cloak, soaking through the thin, woollen material. His sopping hair was plastered to the sides of his face, and his shoes squelched as he moved. The bottle of whisky lay on the lawn behind him- he made no move to pick it up. _Let Hermione do it, _he thought with a scowl.

For ten minutes he stood under that shelter, and for ten minutes he scoured his brain for anything that would help him get into the house. George knew Hermione, and George knew that there was no way in hell he was going to figure out how to make that door open.

* * *

Hermione appeared in her living room with a sharp _crack_. The house was silent. She inched around the sofa, noticing with a cringe that everything seemed _different_ somehow. Her lip twitched when her eye caught a glimpse of a t-shirt left hanging off of one of her beige cushions. George had been wearing that t-shirt last night. The smell of food wafted into the living room; it smelled mouth-wateringly good.

"George?" she called hesitantly.

"Yes, Wifey?" the reply came from the kitchen and so with tentative steps she shuffled towards the scent. Her heels clinked on the tile floor and George turned from the pot on the stove. Like a chilli pepper her face flushed pink and she slapped her hand over her eyes.

"I'm wearing pants," he defended. Her hand dropped, but her eyes remained closed. Shaking in rage she snapped,

"I can see that!"

George sniggered and shook his head, "No you can't," he said, "you got your eyes closed."

A hiss escaped her lips and she snarled at the irritating cretin. "Where did you even get those?"

"Do you like them?"

His tone was laid back and cheeky; her blood boiled at the amused lint. Hazel eyes sprang open, her lips spluttered on the beginnings of a rant, when... _Are you kidding me? _If this moment had been in a cartoon her eyeballs would have been bouncing across the kitchen.

"_You're wearing my KNICKERS!"_ she screamed.

His freckled face embodied cheek as he turned and glanced down at his bare arse, "Yep, I thought so," he said with an amused smirk, "defiantly not knickers. Really, Hermione- I'd have thought that a woman of your distinct age would know the difference..."

The words clung to his lips and he stuttered; the pointy bit of a wand was prodding the tip of his delicate nose, but that wasn't what made him stop- he was scared of the psychotic lunatic clutching the other end.

"My bedroom is locked for a reason!" she snarled.

George gulped. He knew he should try to calm her down, but it wasn't in his nature. Instead, keeping his eyes on hers, he reached a desperate hand behind him and grabbed the first thing he could. His face lit up as he felt the hard handle of a frying pan.

"Not anymore." The oven door rattled as he ducked and rolled across the tiled floor. He spat curses as he sprang to his feet; he really hadn't expected the floor to hurt that much.

"_What_?" the irate beast snarled as it span and flung a sickly yellow blob of pain across the kitchen. The frying pan acted as his shield, absorbing the spell with surprising efficiency. They both eyed the pan appraisingly.

"George Weasley! What did you DO!" Her screech made his spine tingle and he winced. He'd heard men say that there is nothing hotter than an angry woman; George disagreed, unless of course, they meant it literally, for example, hot like, a frazzled witch with her finger stuck in a muggle plug socket- which is exactly how George would describe Hermione.

Her face was so angry that just he couldn't help it. It was the curse of being a Weasley- when people shout at Weasley's they...

"_It's not funny!" _Madness oozed from her pupils as her body shook with rage. His laughter stopped. Fury began to bubble in his gut and he snarled at the angry witch, after all, _he_ didn't start this.

"You locked _me_ out! Daft _freaking_ harpy!" he bellowed. Spittle splattered across her face. Her breathing came in rapid bursts and she snarled at the raging redhead before her. Sparks crackled from the tip of her wand.

"And I'll do it again!" The fire in her tone hadn't melted; it had frozen to a sharp ice-like hatred.

A cracked laugh broke from between his lips; it was almost maniacal. "No you won't!"

Hermione sniffed and crossed her hands across her chest- her wand continued to crackle, shooting sparks around her head. "Really? And how do you plan on stopping me?" The Cheshire cat looked positively unhinged as he cackled and flung his arm out.

"I took the doors," he announced with glee. "I took all your doors and you can't get them back!"

Her jaw dropped. "You...You..." she stuttered.

"Every. Single. ONE!" His smile was triumphant. One flew over the cuckoos' nest. Wide eyes sang their insanity. She backed away, disbelieving at first, and then something lit up in her own face- a deranged kind of excitement that spoke of revenge. Her feet were moving before her mind caught up, and like a ghost above it all, she watched herself drag his clothes from his bag and toss them in the fireplace's flickering flames.

"Burn!" she cried as she grabbed another shirt, "You like my knickers?" she sneered, tossing in his trousers, "Then you can wear them. _Wear them ALL_!" A pair of boxers went in next, hissing and spitting as they were devoured by the fire. "BURN!"

George stood by the kitchen door. The insanity drained from his system as he watched his wife destroy his possessions. He looked down at the lacy, Christmas thong that he'd stolen and cringed. Back into the kitchen he tiptoed, hoping that she wouldn't hear. His wand lay forgotten next to what was left of his dinner. A stray waft told him that it was ruined. Grabbing his wand he span swiftly on his heels, and with a sharp _crack _he vanished to his brother's house- at least there he wouldn't share the fate of his clothes.

* * *

_So, please let me know what you think! I really hope it made your work collegues/school chums/parents give you weird looks because you snorted into your computer screens. :) _

Now, for my readers' amusement, I give you:

The Darwin Awards; in honour of Charles Darwin, the Darwin Awards commemorate those who improve our gene pool...by accidentally removing themselves from it. The Award is usually, by necessity, bestowed posthumously.

_These are all taken from the Official Darwin Awards website._

Singer Claude Francois effectively removed himself from the gene pool by changing a light bulb... whilst stood in a filled bath-tub.

One frat boy from Tennessee effectively removed himself from the gene pool by climbing on top of an electric substation that had a wasp nest attached to it. Why did he do this, I ask? He wanted to take a leek on the wasp nest. Death through electrocution of the genitalia. Nice.

Another college student thought that he had the BEST Halloween costume ever. Dressed as Dracula he decided to realistically stab himself through the heart by putting plywood under his shirt and tapping the knife in with a hammer. He should have gotten thicker plywood.

One man on a journey with his friends got caught up in traffic. Desperate for a pee he jumped out of the car, and over the wall beside the road... to his death; they were going over a bridge.

Ken Charles Barger, 47, accidentally shot himself to death, when, awakening to the sound of a ringing telephone beside his bed, he reached for the phone but grabbed instead a Smith & Wesson .38 Special, which discharged when he drew it to his ear.

_Just incase anyone was wondering why I named Hermione's 'genius' secretary after Charles Darwin; I wasn't being ironic. _


End file.
